shake your foundations
by chokecherries
Summary: He doesn't remember her, but what makes it worse is that she remembers everything. "Do you ever get the feeling that you know people you've never met, been to places you've never actually seen?" She's going to help Sector V regain their memories, one way or another.—wally/kuki


**notes: **this was actually supposed to be something else, but oh well. i've had this idea for a while and it was begging to be written. i guess this is technically kind of non-canon? i don't know. **  
><strong>**disclaimer: **disclaimed. **  
><strong>**pairing(s): **wally/kuki centric, possible others **  
>summary: <strong>He doesn't remember her, but what makes it worse is that she remembers everything. "Do you ever get the feeling that you know people you've never met, been to places you've never actually seen?"/ She's going to help Sector V regain their memories, one way or another.

**chapter title: **the ballad of mona lisa/don't you forget about me

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_{and you wonder when you wake up, will it be alright?}_

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**i.**

Kuki Sanban has been silently terrified of one thing and one thing in particular for the past four or so years of her life. She's scared of several things, actually, but this one is probably the worst—something that every Kids Next Door operative fears, no matter how brave they are.

Decommissioning Day.

Some of her friends are already gone—she's the youngest in Sector V, after all, destined to fall from grace by herself. They don't remember her or any of the many adventures they shared throughout their years together. She sits on the ledge of the treehouse and dangles her feet off of it, staring up at the moon and the base she knows is up there, somewhere.

They used to sit together and watch the stars sometimes, she and Numbuh Four, that is. In fact, she thinks, they did it the very night before he'd been decommissioned. They'd been the only two left of their sector, and she'd been sad to see Nigel, Abby, and Hoagie go—but Wally was different.

(She wasn't secretly in love with her other three friends, for one thing.)

He'd been joking about it for a month, attempting to make light of the whole situation and probably trying keep her from crying and his own terror from showing. _What a dummy_, she muses now, ruefully, and casting a glance around the empty treehouse. He'd dubbed it 'Double D-Day' because they'd been learning about World War II lately, only now it didn't seem very funny at all because nothing good ever happened on Decommissioning Day.

She screws her eyes shut and tries hard not to think of his turn. It doesn't really work, unfortunately.

She'd held his hand—"_I don't need to hold your cruddy hand, stupid Sheila_," he'd muttered as they walked in, but his own grip had tightened until his knuckles turned white—and he'd said her name a grand total of twelve times that day. A record, for sure. Before his memories had been stolen from him, he'd even told her that he kind-of-maybe-loved-her. And then, just like that, Numbuh Four—the Wally she'd known for what seemed like forever (and really, maybe it kind of had been) was gone.

Kuki didn't really think that life was fair.

She brushes her tears away with her sweater sleeve and tries to swallow the lump that's suddenly lodged itself in her throat. Then, she glances back at _his _doorway and exhales slowly. There's something twisting uncomfortably in her chest, and she presses a fist to it before standing. Throwing one last quick look at the full moon, she turns and starts down the ladder.

Whatever. It's not like she'll remember anything about him or her used-to-be friends after tomorrow, anyway.

Only, maybe she doesn't want to forget. Maybe she _does _want to remember.

She takes the chance to glance up at Nigel's window. It's late on a school night, and even though he doesn't remember her, or being the leader of Sector V, she knows for a fact that he is still responsible and ambitious. Which is a good thing, honestly, because she couldn't really sneak across his lawn and into his (their) old treehouse if he was awake. Probably, anyway.

Some of her dark bangs fall into her eyes, and she tries to blow them away, but it doesn't work. Her brows furrow, and she resorts to brushing them aside with her fingers still hidden inside her sweater sleeve. The knit fabric slides down her arm a bit, just enough to reveal her wrist. Her pale skin practically glows under the soft moonlight, and as Kuki stares at it, a wry smile pulls at her lips.

She has an idea.

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The next day, she is escorted into the Decommissioning Room. Some young operative standing by the machine sends her a smile. She only nods at him; she doesn't smile all that often, anymore. It's her thirteenth birthday, but she isn't happy at all. The whole thing feels more like a funeral or something just as sad, really.

She knows that Tommy, Sonya, Lee, and Mushi are probably watching from another room, and it's kind of nice, honestly.

"Are you ready, Numbuh Three?"

She closes her eyes tightly—so hard that she sees bright spots where all there should be is darkness—and nods her head. "Okay."

It's all over surprisingly fast. She doesn't even scream.

When she comes to, some strange but oddly sympathetic children she's never seen before walk her home. They look at her with awe and admiration—and, are those poorly hidden tears she sees in their eyes?

Weird. She shrugs and waves to them, sending a bright smile and a 'thank you!' their way. They don't smile back, and instead turn and hightail it out of there. She's left standing alone on her front porch, staring after them, wondering what in the world just happened.

_Oh well_, she thinks and turns to open the front door. A Rainbow Monkey Marathon is on tonight, and so what if she's thirteen? She isn't going to miss it for anything.

And Numbuh Three is no more.

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The days pass by slowly, but also kind of fast at the same time. It's been a few weeks since her thirteenth birthday—"_My little girl,_" her father cries, "_growing up so fast! Already a teenager! What am I going to do?_"—and she wonders about some things she doesn't think she's noticed before.

Like why Mushi disappears so often, and where exactly she goes. Or why at only thirteen, she apparently has a small number three tattooed on the back of her right wrist that she doesn't recall getting. (And you'd _think _she would remember getting a _tattoo _but _no). _She has to try and keep _that _hidden at all times because heaven only knows what her father would do if he found out his beloved daughter had inked her skin. Even if she didn't remember it actually happening.

There was also the strange orange hoodie she'd found in the recesses of her closet a few days previous. She's absolutely sure that she hasn't ever seen it before in her life, and she doesn't remember buying it, and yet there is something distinctly familiar about the article of clothing. It smells vaguely like nice cologne and French fries, and she can't bring herself to throw it out or give it away. She'd tried, but something in her chest had constricted and her body seemed to freeze and instead of it going to some unfortunate child in a poor country, it ended up tucked under her pillow. She checks every night to make sure it's still there before she goes to sleep.

But some things still stay the same—her father still keeps it as cold as Antarctica in their house, she still has her enormous Rainbow Monkey collection, and she still takes whatever life throws her way with a smile.

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A year later, she wakes up in the middle of a bone-chilling cold night in February, eyes wide.

She remembers.

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**end notes: **this also isn't actually supposed to be sad? but the first chapter kinda turned out that way? oops.


End file.
